


The Parking Lot

by crowdedangels



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowdedangels/pseuds/crowdedangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The murmuring of anxiety ramped up once she was stood by his truck. She kicked her duffel bag over to the wheel and out of immediate sight – too presumptive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Parking Lot

The murmuring of anxiety ramped up once she was stood by his truck. She kicked her duffel bag over to the wheel and out of immediate sight – too presumptive? – and looked at her watch for the umpteenth time, checked her reflection in the side-view mirror and told herself to calm down. 

She was still questioning why he hadn’t told her. Why it had taken Daniel asking whether there was going to be a party for her to know Jack was retiring at all? He had to know that she would be very interested in that news. He also knew that she had been based out of the SGC for the last few months attempting to retrofit an artifact from an SG12 find. He had signed off on her being there!

Did he think it would be presumptuous to tell her? Was that it? Or did he not want it? Not want her? Was whatever-it-was for the last fifteen years just a survival technique? Something to hold onto to fight for tomorrow? Did they wait too long to act on what was ‘left in the room’? 

Well, a 1600mile flight and a cab from Dulles after a sleepless night and she was about to find out. _Now or never, Carter. Do or die. Fight or flight. Oh for crying out loud, shut up._

She gave herself a last once-over - pointed heels beneath dark blue jeans, pastel pink wrap-around top with a bit more cleavage than she may have usually shown and her black biker jacket over the top. The airport spritz of perfume was holding up too. 

She had been into battle countless times, flown over and into war-zones, and right now she felt like she was flying headfirst into the latest combat. But without her P90, her Kevlar and with her hands figuratively tied around her back. Her nerves were firing on all cylinders and she was painfully aware of everything around her – the workers filtering out of the Pentagon at shift-end, the cars on the highway not too far away, the cool of the fender as she leaned back against it. 

She saw the moment he noticed her; rucksack in one hand and a gift bag in the other, meandering his way out of the building. His exhausted expression switching to intense determination and his gait evolving to that he used when charging over to the unknown. 

She still felt that same flutter in her stomach that she tried to deny all for those years. She swallowed and tried for a siren-type expression, tried to remember all of the opening lines she had been working on during the flight, tried to remember to breathe. 

Just a few steps away and he dropped his rucksack to the ground not far from hers, touched that hand to her cheek and his lips were on hers before he had even put the gift bag on the hood of the truck. 

It was a kiss noticeably fifteen-years in the making – passion clouding minds as she felt his five-o-clock shadow scratch against her skin, his long fingers cup her cheeks and manoeuvre her face to his liking. She could taste the copious amounts of coffee on his tongue as it begged, and quickly gained, entrance. She heard herself whimper and felt his fervor increase even further, her hands bunching his shirt into her fists.

He finally pulled away, her forehead resting against his shoulder as she willed her body to calm and her voice to return. 

“God,” she breathed, “I’ve been wanting to do that for fifteen years.”

He fought the urge to say he’d been waiting to do that _again_ for _eleven_ years, but that was a story for another time. “You have no idea.”

She moved her hand from his bunched shirt and fed it through the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers again. She arched against him, feeling his fingers slip beneath her shirt and to the bare skin of her stomach. 

“You ever had sex on the back seat of a truck in the Pentagon parking-lot at rush hour?”

“No,” a shiver ran down her spine at his hoarse voice and the eyes boring into her when she looked up to him with a smirk. “And I’m not gonna.”

“Spoilsport,” he murmured against her lips. “It’s quite roomy.”

She laughed, “So is your apartment. Or the cabin. Landry gave me two weeks.”

He literally growled before asking, “What the hell are we waiting for?” His hands smoothed from her waist to her wrists without leaving her body and it seriously made her rethink the backseat for a moment.

“One question, first?”

“If it has anything to do with, I don’t know, coronal emissions or magnets, I swear to God, Sam…”

She pursed her lips into a smirk; it had been a long time since he’d called her Sam and she wasn’t in some perilous situation. “Not work related, I promise. Well, not directly.” She took a breath, “Why didn’t you tell me? That you got your retirement date?”

“Didn’t Daniel tell you?”

“Yeah, but…” Realisation hit: he had his buddy do a little recon. “Did you actually leave high school?”

“I just got turned down for back-seat-of-my-car sex, so… no.” 

She chuckled as she interlaced their fingers.

“I didn’t want to phone you up like ‘Hey, Colonel, how are ya? By the way, I retire on the 29th so we shall reconvene at seventeen-hundred-hours for fifteen years’ worth of sex, yes?’”

“I don’t know,” she stepped up onto her tiptoes to kiss him and whisper into his ear, “I would’ve probably been okay with that.”

This woman was going to kill him. 

And he was going to die one goddamn happy man.


End file.
